The Notorious roller coaster train was still in the station, its yellow seats streaked with crimson. The anonymous lumps of six bodies lay on the platform, covered with plastic sheets. Empty body bags had been piled to one side. The air hung with the smell of new death – not the rotten meat odour that Gabriel knew from decomposing bodies, a smell that haunted your nose and clothes for hours, but the faintest tang of iron and faeces. The stench of the slaughterhouse.

Obscene trails of blood on the platform showed where victims had been pulled from their seats by the paramedics. There had clearly been some miserable work here as the ambulance crews battled to preserve flutters of life. As a younger officer, Gabriel had watched paramedics cut open chests of road accident victims still strapped in their seats in order to massage their hearts directly with gloved fingers, and she knew the reckless desperation of those last few moments.

One of the local PCs put down his roll of tape and came over.

‘Morning, ma’am,’ he said. He looked like he was going to throw up.

Gabriel directed her most amicable smile at him. Poor kid. Looks about twelve. Probably got homework when he gets home tonight.

‘Where will I find the duty inspector?’ Gabriel asked.

‘She’s with victim liaison and the key witness in the staff canteen, ma’am.’ He waved towards the concrete buildings that Gabriel and Campbell had passed on their way to the ride.

‘Thank you. This is a tough day for everyone, keep up the good work.’ The constable smiled thinly as she walked off.

#

The smell of vinegar and stale cooking fat assaulted Gabriel as she walked into the canteen and began a silent headcount.

After meeting the duty inspector, Gabriel’s initial reaction was positive. The first 999 calls had gone through to Kent Police, who had shut down the park and carried out the initial witness triage. The Kent DI running the show had the nous to keep the victims’ families out of the public cafes, which appeared to be decorated with jolly pirates and woodland animals, and herd them into the less offensive staff canteen. Witnesses at the front of the queue who were unrelated to victims had been taken to another public cafe where their details and statements were taken down, while local police had sent home the rest after getting their details.

There were sixteen people slumped around the canteen tables, mostly nursing or ignoring cups of coffee. A couple of young women in their twenties were crying, another couple sat holding hands. Just like the victims on the ride, most seemed to be South Asian, Gabriel noted.

There was no obligation for Gabriel to talk to the victims’ families but, from past experience, she knew a few moments of compassion now could pay dividends later. The last thing she needed was a victim’s uncle going rogue on day four and whining to the press about the police.